


You Will Not Be Overcome

by ArtisticRainey



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9410738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtisticRainey/pseuds/ArtisticRainey
Summary: John muses on the nature of his brothers, and himself.





	

_“He did not say: You will not be troubled, you will not be belaboured, you will not be afflicted; but He said: you will not be overcome.” - Julian of Norwich_

*

Sometimes I wonder why things are the way they are. Not an intellectual question. Not something you’d expect from me, Mr Logic. Regardless, it plays on my mind a lot.

We never asked for any of this. We didn’t ask for Mom to die. We didn’t ask for Dad to disappear. That’s the reality, but there’s no explanation for it. At least, not a rational one. Not a good enough one for me.

Grandma sometimes falls back on the old adage that you’re never given more than you can deal with. It’s a pseudo-religious belief she has. Grandma’s not religious, not in the way Grandpa was. He made us go to mass, because we were baptised and that’s the way it was. I never got a good explanation from him on _why_ it was that way, either.

But yeah, Grandma believes that you’re only given as much as you can cope with. She believes that hardships come along to make you stronger. Stronger for what, is what I’d like to know. If Mom’s death and Dad’s disappearance are making me strong for something _worse_ , I don’t want to know what it is. There are a thousand possibilities, and all of them leave a bitter taste on my tongue.

Scott doesn’t think about it. He throws himself into his work, his ‘Bird, his duties. I worry he’s burying things deep down, shoving them into the crevices in his grey matter, sowing the seeds of a problem in the fertile furrows. He doesn’t talk about it – or at least, not to me. I’m sure he talks to Virgil. At least, I hope he does.

Virgil is different. Virgil is a heart-on-his-sleeve kind of guy. Not soft by any means, but if he needs to let it out, he will. He’s the strongest of all of us, because he’s strong enough to _embrace_ how he feels. It’s just another of his many qualities that I admire, or rather, that I covet.

Gordon hides his pain under jokes and wisecracks. That’s not to say he doesn’t mean to be funny, nor does it suggest that he’s not enjoying himself. He is. I worry that he’s pushing his emotions away, buried under a mountain of lame joke carcasses. I worry that when it comes down to it, he might forget that it’s okay to feel sad. Grief is natural. It doesn’t need an aerosol of humour to cover it.

Alan’s the easiest, I think. He’s a little like Virgil, and a little like Gordon. He’s not scared of his feelings. Nor is he controlled by them. He exists. He lives. He smiles. He cries. In some ways, though, I think he has it the hardest. Still a teen, both parents gone. None of the rest of us had to deal with that. As with everything, he’s coped beautifully. I can’t help but still think it’s not fair.

As for me? The truth is, I don’t know. I wish I was like Virgil. I try to be like Scott. I can’t be who Gordon is. I’m not good enough to be Alan. I’m just me. Sturdy, reliable, boring John, not quite one and not quite the other. I’m a literal and figurative floater, here and not here, there and not there. Peripheral but integral.


End file.
